


dumb shit I write at 1am bc these boys make me tender

by SageOfStorms



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bruises, Fights, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageOfStorms/pseuds/SageOfStorms
Summary: Aziraphale had never been the fighty type, but still, he'll fight against the hosts of heaven to keep his love and his earth safe.It's not really all that deep lmao





	dumb shit I write at 1am bc these boys make me tender

"Excuse me, but I just cannot abide by a God who claims to be all loving and still decides to destroy Her living creations!"

It was a mistake, an idea that had become so commonplace in the angels mind, he forgot the danger of his words. It was a mistake, an accident, but the consequences were reaped despite his apologies.

***

Crowley was pacing. Beside him laid a table, neatly set and covered in the foods that Aziraphale liked, including a nice champagne from Aziraphale's favorite year and collection. His plants shying away from him, the fire of the candles around the room of his, no, their apartment, were hardly contained.

"He's late!" He growled to himself again. No matter where he'd looked, Aziraphale was not on Earth. Many worrying thoughts breached the demon's mind.

"What if they got him? I mean, uh, well, this time the hellfire oughtta work, yeah? And, angel...my angel...no!" He shook the thought away. "We're good for now, there's no way...yeah, we're fine, he's just...lost track of time, yeah?"

The repetition of "yeah" was proof enough of his worry and unsureness.

All remaining thoughts were ushered away when there was a soft thud outside the door followed by the sound of the handle. Crowley's vision took in Aziraphale, relieving him for a second before there was just something very _wrong_.

The door thundered closed behind the angel by Crowley's demonic abilities. In the next second, Aziraphale was tightly in Crowley's arms. Such blatant affection was still coming to them, so Aziraphale was surprised but nonetheless slumped into Crowley's hold.

A moment later, they were apart, in the bathroom, Aziraphale, strangely enough, was sitting upon the sink, leveled with Crowley, who was staring at his face.

It was battered and looked so poor that Crowley's heart turned in his chest. It was despicable, to bruise such a soft, sweet face. Crowley was unusually quiet and, stranger yet, cold as ice. His hand was gingerly holding Aziraphale's chin, moving his face slowly to appraise the damage.

His left eye was already purple, swollen slightly, closed eye to alleviate the discomfort. His nose was bleeding, but unbroken. There was a faint outline of fingers upon his neck. From the way Aziraphale's arm hung at his side, Crowley had a suspicion it was damaged as well. Probably dislocated or broken.

There was a tenderness in the way Crowley swiped the faint trace of blood just below Aziraphale's broken bottom lip. His eyes, uncovered, in Crowleys most intimate form, were clearly moved in a way that Aziraphale did not recognize.

In their six millennia, this was new.

"Who did this to you, angel." It was like ice, so cold that it burned. This was the compression of a fire, one that was roaring and the demon was trying to extinguish before it harmed the beautiful, damaged creature before him.

"Ah, well, I was found by Gabriel and Uriel, and well, you know Crowley, I just have to make things right! So I told them that they needn't be so hasty to end the world, just as I had said before, before I, we, were in the middle. Then I said I couldn't abide God because she's cruel, and they didn't take it so well!" He was shrinking back with every word. The climax was coming and he knew Crowleys anger, true anger, was not easily provoked and harder to quench. "I fought to come back. I'm sorry I'm late and I didn't even win, I just got away."

"Just got away, huh? Sounds like it's hardly done. I should just go finish what they started." Crowley was losing the hold on his aggression, slipping, hot and ready for a fight.

"No, no! I'm not going to let you fight because of something so silly! Come on, Crowley, it's... we're supposed to have a nice dinner tonight, why don't we just settle to that?" Aziraphale looked at him desperately. Even so, Crowley did not budge.

"Sweetheart, I am fine."

Crowley was simmering, trying harder to end his anger before it truly starts. Seeing Aziraphale so vulnerable tore at his heart, and so he softened.

"You did good, angel." He laid his lips softly against Aziraphale's bruised temple.

"It's just my body anyway, I'll simply have to let it heal. I like to think it makes me look bold and dashing anyway. I got in a fight!" Aziraphale was trying to retract the mood, calm his lover.

"Would you like to eat?" Crowley asked, making mental note to kill those who hurt his precious angel upon his next chance. Still, he calmed at the drop of a hat, simply because Aziraphale asked, and although he'd never admit it, Crowley would move mountains at his angel's request.

That is, after all, what it means to love.


End file.
